To Die Alone
by Dyrim's Voice
Summary: A few years after the binding of Orannis, Lirael gets wind that Clayr's Glacier is melting. Determined to set this right, she sets out with a few companions, but little does she know what's waiting for her there...
1. Prologue

**To Die Alone** By © Dyrim's Voice, FanFiction.Net Disclaimer: I own nothing, nowhere, and nobody in this fanfic with the exception of Elixiol. She is mine. My own…my preciousss…ah, whoops, wrong fandom. Anyway. Everything else belongs to Garth Nix, who is, undoubtedly, a genius. Prologue 

Crimson fire blossomed around the creature known as the Disreputable Dog, the vengeful wrath from the bound Destroyer. Orannis roared, and repulsive Free Magic boomed, most of it directed at the Dog, who was once called Kibeth.

Where, then, did the rest go?

Far, far away from this final battle, in the Observatory of the Clayr, the image that the Nine Day Watch was Seeing suddenly blanked. Slowly, the Clayr emptied the Observatory, silently accepting this failure. They had had many failures of late.

When the last Clayr had gone, the great sheet of ice in the Observatory shook as if struck by an earthquake, but did not fall. Several minutes passed after this unusual spasm, until something happened. One tiny drop of water fell from the Observatory ceiling, splashing without a sound onto the ground.

Somewhere south of this, closer to the Wall, a great black raven soared, panicked, away from Ancelstierre. But this raven was unlike any other, for it was huge and filled with darkness. It did not think, merely flew, for to falter or turn back meant certain destruction. Yet as that single drop of water in the Clayr's Observatory dropped, the terrible bird stopped flying insanely, as if that had been some sort of signal. It lost all its former panic and regained cold, calculating thought. With a nasty smirk uncharacteristic to any mortal raven, it began winging its way north once more, but this time with a sense of purpose.

Someone else who seemed to notice the silent drop was the most feared necromancer north of the city Navis. The woman paused, and the wind around her seemed to chill as she turned to face the Glacier. Smiling grimly, she headed southwest, hand on the telltale bell-bandolier that marked her as who she was.

Both made their way to where that lonesome drop had fallen.

Unaware of all this, relief and grief together filled the atmosphere at Forwin Mill in Ancelstierre. Seven figures collapsed on the ground as they recovered from the fearsome battle they had just fought. But they had succeeded. They had bound Orannis, the Destroyer, who would have obliterated their world had It been kept free. But the Seven—Eight, actually—bound him anew, confiding him to the split halves of a silver sphere.

But the toll—one of the Eight's lives—had been paid.

Kibeth, the Disreputable Dog, had finally Walked herself into Death. But she wouldn't be Walking out.

While the others breathed in relief, the one called Lirael still wept silently, clutching the dog statuette that the Dog had left behind, her own semblance. While the Abhorsen, Sabriel, freed the Eighth Shiner, Yrael, from his eternal servitude to the Abhorsens, Lirael still cried, the tears coursing down her cheeks.

She had lost her only friend in the world.

Prince Sameth, once he helped his sister Ellimere up, hesitantly went over to her. She looked up, and tried to see through her tears who it was, and recognized him. She was wrong, she realized—she may have lost her one true friend, but she had her newfound family. Sam was her nephew, Sabriel her sister…no one could ask for a more loving and caring family.

"Sam," she sobbed, unable to keep her sorrow in. Dimly she saw that resting on the ground was the bell Astarael the Weeper. Its presence was, for once, fitting, but not exactly welcoming.

Sam bent down and helped his aunt up, trying to support her. Two other strong hands helped him, and he looked gratefully at the twin Clayr, Sanar and Ryelle. Together they carried the weeping Lirael, who hardly noticed anything, even the pain of her severed hand.

As they struggled up the hill, Lirael saw the diamond-shaped patch of grass that was alone healthy and whole, and remembered the three diamonds of protection they had cast. Even that seemed so long ago. And the body of Nicholas Sayre, who had bore the fragment of Orannis unwittingly for so long, would rest in that diamond, she knew. Another thing to mourn.

Suddenly, she nearly fell as Sam let go of her, but Sanar—or Ryelle, she couldn't tell which—hastily picked her up where he had dropped her. Lirael tried to see the reason for Sam's sudden action, but could not, and found that she no longer cared. She was too far gone now.

"Nick!" yelled Sam, and he ran up the hill. Lirael wondered if she'd heard right, and that Sam had shouted the name of the dead boy in that diamond of grass. At the same time, she saw a figure waving merrily at the top of the hill, towards whom Sam ran. Who was that, Lirael wondered, and she squinted, but for the life of her she could not see.

Now Sam was embracing the figure, and laughing like one laughs in hysterical relief. The two came back down, toward the other six, and they were both laughing, laughing like they could never stop…

It was then when Lirael was certain she was hallucinating. For there, standing before her, was the dead Nick, alive and whole…

"I must be dreaming," she muttered.

Nick heard her and smiled, turning towards her. "This isn't a dream," he said softly, "it's real. It's as real as that owl and the winged dog in my tent was real."

Mention of the Dog nearly brought on a new wave of tears, but Lirael held them back. "Nick," she said in disbelief. "Nicholas Sayre."

"That's me," he said brightly as he was hugged roughly by Sam once more. Then he turned to greet the others, grinning as Touchstone clapped him on the back.

"Nicholas Sayre," Lirael repeated to herself, then smiled as darkness claimed her vision.


	2. MessageHawk

Chapter 1 :: Message-Hawk 

"Lirael! Wake up, before this sending gouges your eyes out…"

Lirael woke to the dry sound of Mogget the cat, and the splash of cold water as it hit her face. She sat up, sputtering, but instantly realized the reason for this rude awakening. A sending had dumped a basin of water over her, and was beginning to wash her hair without mercy for the tangles.

"Ow!…I can do that myself, thank you," Lirael protested as the sending yanked at one particularly tangled part of her hair.

"You try that every day," the white cat beside her observed, "and yet it never works. I suggest you give up, or else you'll be unhappy for the rest of your days as Abhorsen."

"I'm not Abhorsen yet," retorted Lirael, grimacing as the sending began to comb her hair viciously. "That's _not_ the way to comb someone's hair," she informed it, miffed.

Mogget yawned but did not answer her. Instead, he leaped down lightly on her bed and informed her casually, "Message-hawk for you. Mind you, you'd better get it, before I start getting a craving for something besides these sendings' horrible fish…"

"Don't you dare," Lirael ordered fiercely.

Mogget sighed. "Seeing as how I am free from all Abhorsens' service, I could easily ignore that demand."

"But you won't," Lirael said smugly, "especially because I can give you more of those tinned sardines. Sam left me a whole box of them."

"What makes you think I haven't eaten them all already?" asked Mogget innocently.

Lirael finally pulled free of the sending's grasp, and tried to dress herself, but the sending wouldn't let her do that either. Resigned, she threw up her hands and turned to face the white cat indignantly.

"You can't! You wouldn't be able to open them!"

"Ah, but you forget," Mogget said sagely. "I have another form."

Lirael remembered the albino dwarf a little too late. "You didn't," she said, aghast. She had gotten that box only yesterday, and it was enormous!

"You're right," the cat said amiably, "I didn't. So therefore, your bribe stands, and I shall not eat the message-hawk, provided I receive some sardines in return. Salmon, too, will be preferable."

"Oh, you," Lirael started, glaring at him in disgust. "I suppose this is revenge? After millennia of serving Abhorsens, now we'll all have to serve _you_!"

"Mmm, haven't thought of that," said Mogget lightly.

Lirael sighed, and stalked out of the room. She didn't have time for this, and the message-hawk was undoubtedly important. Otherwise Mogget wouldn't have made such a big deal about eating it and all.

The bird was waiting for her patiently in the Reading Room. She strode over to it, and politely asked it to repeat its message. The hawk squawked once before its tiny voice changed, turning into a voice Lirael knew well. It was her nephew, Sam.

Lirael— 

_You must come to Belisaere and the Palace quick! There is great trouble, and we need you to discuss it. We just got word that Clayr's Glacier is melting! Please hurry!_

_Love,_

Sam 

Lirael stared at the bird in utter disbelief, half-wanting to ask it to repeat its message. But she knew she wouldn't hear anything new. Yet it shocked her…Clayr's Glacier? Melting?

It wasn't possible. Simply impossible. Lirael, who was half-Clayr, had grown up in Clayr's Glacier, from an infant until she was almost twenty. The Glacier that had once been her home had been intact for hundreds if not thousands of years. How could it plausibly erode?

Even so, if the Glacier _was_ melting, it would take many more years for it to vanish altogether. It was an incredibly massive mountain of ice—no, multiple mountains of ice. The Observatory, the center of the Clayr's Nine Day Watch, was made most importantly from ice.

How could it melt?

"You don't believe it," stated Mogget, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Lirael stared at him before answering.

"It can't be true! The Glacier is too large—too powerful—"

"Funny how all these strange things are happening at once," Mogget cut her off. "I mean, the Destroyer had not been loosed for many millennia, and suddenly…well…and also, a few years later, Clayr's Glacier begins to melt! Unlikely! Against all odds! Utterly inconceiv—"

"You think that the Glacier melting is linked with the release of the Destroyer?" asked Lirael, stunned.

"Orannis?" inquired Mogget innocently, but Lirael shuddered. Even Its name sent chills down her back, and she tried not to think about that fateful day so long ago. "Well," the cat went on, "I won't say anything for certain, but…I mean, I hope it strikes you as an unusual…coincidence…but then again…perhaps I have overestimated your ability to, shall we say…figure things out."

Lirael glowered at the cat for insulting her, but sighed, and realized she was quite used to Mogget's almost playful scorn. It came with the sarcastic personality of the cat. "I'll bring it up when I get to Belisaere," she said to Mogget. "And I'm assuming you're coming to? So you can enlighten us with your incredible skills, so superior to the rest of ours?"

"I suppose you all could deal with some well-rounded advice," sighed Mogget, leaping down. "Well, shall we go? Thankfully, Sabriel isn't traveling around dealing with Dead here and there, and the Paperwing is at our disposal. But then again, I don't suppose you've ever traveled in a Paperwing?"

"I've…" Lirael began, about to tell of her experiences with the aircrafts on Clayr's Glacier. Suddenly, the memories at her old home seemed very important to her now, even the ones with the lectures from Aunt Kirrith—for what if Clayr's Glacier was suddenly gone?

Shaking her head to clear it from such ludicrous thoughts, she answered Mogget. "I've seen countless of them being flown, but never have myself."

"Ah well," the cat sighed. "Abhorsen's House was under siege when Sabriel first set eyes on a Paperwing, and she was able to fly it reasonably well enough—for a first-timer, mind you. Of course, we were attacked by Gore Crows along the way…so, I suggest you hope such an experience does not repeat itself for you. Come along, Lirael—the Paperwing will not fly itself!"


	3. Disturbance in the Air

Chapter 2 :: Disturbance in the Air 

The royal red-and-gold Paperwing awaited the Abhorsen-in-Waiting and the cat, placidly sitting in its hangar. Lirael looked at it apprehensively, hoping that Mogget's confidence in her was sound. If Sabriel could fly it under siege and through Gore Crows, for her first time…well, it must not be incredibly hard, Lirael figured.

It was quite simple, really. Once she figured out the Charter Marks to activate the Paperwing, it was easy to whistle them and have the aircraft lift off. Mogget sat in the passenger seat, seeming quite at home there, and Lirael had stowed the bulging sack of supplies the sendings had give her—both necessary and quite unnecessary as well. She wore her Abhorsen clothing, the surcoat of golden stars and silver keys. The bell-bandolier she stashed with Mogget, along with her sword Nehima. Despite all this, Mogget seemed quite comfortable with everything, especially since Lirael had allowed him to bring a few sardine cans along, pre-opened for his easy access.

Lirael whistled the first Mark, and felt the Paperwing come to life beneath her. The prospect of flying had always unnerved her, and even just looking at Paperwings in the hangar on Clayr's Glacier made her shiver. She shifted nervously as the Paperwing slowly activated, until she saw its eyes blinking at her benignly, more like a large falcon than an aircraft made of thousands of sheets of laminated paper.

As the Paperwing lifted off into the sky, with Lirael continuing to whistle the Marks that would direct it to Belisaere, she felt the wind seem to almost tear through her. She didn't like flying, she decided, but she would have to put up with it until she got to the capital. She sensed no Dead in the air, for which she was grateful, but had some other sense at the back of her mind, tingling. It was the gut feeling you got when you know something is going to go horribly wrong. Maybe not right then, but eventually. And there's nothing you can do to stop it.

Lirael had that feeling now, but she tried to ignore it. It wasn't helpful that the wind kept coming into her face, drying her lips so that she would have to keep wetting them again in order to whistle properly. Nor did it help that Lirael could see dark clouds coalescing to the west. Hopefully, they wouldn't get in her way. The last thing she needed was a thunderstorm, on her first time flying a Paperwing, during an emergency flight to the capital.

But as the wind picked up, Lirael knew that she would have no such luck. "Should we land?" she shouted to Mogget over the sound of the gusts tearing at the Paperwing, which resisted.

"That would be recommendable, unless you wish to be struck by lightning," returned the cat's calm and sarcastic voice. "The Paperwing can withstand many things, but unfortunately, lightning is not one of them."

Lirael took the hint and whistled to get the Paperwing to land gently. There was a nice flat plain stretched out before them, which was fine for landing, but once the rain started, there would be no protection. They would just have to deal with it, Lirael concluded grimly, though she knew that Mogget wouldn't like getting wet.

The Paperwing descended easily, just as the clouds culminated and thunder began to sound in the distance. The air was thick with tension, and Lirael knew she had little time before lightning would begin to flash. Angrily muttering about storms and their ability to come when they're least wanted, Lirael landed the Paperwing on the grassy plain. It was middle spring, so the grass was long and green, and, unfortunately, thunderstorms were not a rarity at this time of year.

It began to drizzle, then to rain, then to pour. Lirael, miserable under the cold wetness, sat in the Paperwing, not willing to get out and land on what she knew would be a very damp and very muddy plain. Mogget had similar logic.

"This is the fourth thunderstorm of the week," the white cat said quietly.

Lirael turned, startled, then saw that all the sardine tins were empty. _Figures,_ she thought wryly, before addressing the topic Mogget began. "How would you know?" she asked suspiciously.

Mogget gave her a look. "You think that I would spend my entire time in that stifling trap hole of a house? I've gotten rather tired of it over the millennia, quite frankly. I have freedom now, and I intend to use it. Unfortunately, every time I go out it seems that it's pouring. Why do you think I've been spending more time in sight than usual?"

Lirael, looking back, realized that although normally she rarely saw the cat inside, that this week he had been underfoot more often.

"What's causing the storms?" she asked quietly.

"Mmm," said Mogget. "Disturbance in the air, I would suppose…"

"What do you mean?"

The cat did not answer. Although Lirael repeated the question several times, she realized that Mogget was not going to give her any kind of reply. In fact, he was asleep, or pretending to be. When Lirael knew him best, he was under the influence of the bell Ranna the Sleepbringer, so he spent most of his time asleep. But had been a few years since he was released from Ranna's hold, so she didn't expect he would be sleeping as much—yet, she supposed, any ordinary cat would sleep frequently anyway.

Frustrated, she gave up trying to wake Mogget and get him to answer anything, which left her to ponder his remark. But, irritated by the rain and the delay it was causing her, and irked by Mogget's decision to sleep when she least wanted him to, she didn't get very far in her train of thought. "Disturbance in the air," Mogget had said. But what kind of disturbance?

Lirael soon got off track in her thoughts, and started thinking about Belisaere. It had been a while since she had been to the capital, and though she was called under grave circumstances, it would be nice to see her family again…her half-sister Sabriel and her husband King Touchstone I,  not to mention Sam and his sister Ellimere…plus Nick, Sam's friend, who was learning Charter Magic from Sam and other Charter Mages around the Palace. Briefly, Lirael wondered how he was progressing with that. The Disreputable Dog (Lirael still couldn't think of her old companion without a pang of remembrance) had sent Nick back with a Charter Mark on his forehead, to balance out the Free Magic he had absorbed when Orannis had possessed him. So Lirael would be able to see all her old friends, her dear companions once again…although she knew that time for catching up with them all would have to wait. A council needed to be held first, to discuss Clayr's Glacier…and maybe even Mogget's hint of the "disturbance in the air."

Lirael sighed as these thoughts carried her away, traveling over and over in a repetitive circle, until she followed the way of Mogget and was soon asleep.


	4. The Dream

_Chapter 3 :: The Dream_

The thunderstorm finally let up, revealing that it evening, and twilight was just closing in. Lirael cursed the inconvenience of the thunderstorm, but decided to travel during the night instead. Mogget seemed to have no qualms, and Lirael was well-rested enough. The clear night, nearly free of clouds now, greeted her with a cool gust of air as she guided the Paperwing north.

After that, it didn't take very long to get to Belisaere, though true night had finally conquered any light. Lirael approached Belisaere nervously, lest there be any wandering Dead, but then shook her head: in the city of the Abhorsen herself, would any Dead dare tread? It was silly to think that any Dead would escape Sabriel's notice.

Two people awaited her as she carefully landed her Paperwing in the Palace's hangar. Prince Sameth, smiling broadly as his aunt stepped out cautiously from the Paperwing, and Sabriel herself, arms open in warm welcome.

"Greetings, sister," said the Abhorsen, embracing Lirael.

A long yowl interrupted the reunion, and Mogget leaped out nimbly from his seat in the Paperwing, strolling over haughtily to Sam. The Prince reached down and absently petted the cat's head, much to Mogget's pleasure.

"Welcome back, Aunt Lirael," Sam said cheerfully.

Lirael noticed that they did not mention the reason for her coming to the Palace, but decided to keep it that way. Wordlessly she returned her half-sister's hug, and grinned at Sameth.

"It's good to be back," she said softly.

"We expected you'd come late," Sam explained, "because of the storm and all. We were just going to go back in, too. I told Mom, 'Watch, she'll come just as we're about to leave,' and here you came!" He beamed at this revelation as if it were something fascinating. "Didn't I tell you, Mom," he informed Sabriel importantly.

"You most certainly told me," agreed the Queen. "Come, Lirael, to your room. You're probably exhausted, flying all the way from Abhorsen's House to Belisaere…"

"With Mogget, too," added Sam wickedly, then scratching the white cat behind the ears as a peace offering. Mogget sniffed disdainfully but otherwise took no notice of Sam's remark.

Lirael followed them silently, glad to see them but tired and troubled. Neither Sabriel nor Sam had yet mentioned Clayr's Glacier, and Lirael expected they did it out of respect for her tiredness. But she was impatient. She did not like the feeling of being too late, a feeling she was unfortunately acquainted with.

"Is Clayr's Glacier melting?" she demanded, more severely than she intended, just before she had gotten to her room.

Sabriel sighed, and suddenly Lirael could see the great weariness in her spirit. "That's what we've heard, and I'm willing to believe, much as I don't want to," she answered quietly.

Sam was uncharacteristically silent.

"But," the Abhorsen went on, "even if it is, it will take many years for it to make any real progress. A few hours won't matter, Lirael. You can sleep, and don't worry yourself over it."

Lirael nodded, silently thankful for Sabriel's reassurance. Maybe Sabriel, too, was sick of being too late, and understood how Lirael felt. Nevertheless, it relieved Lirael to hear that she could sleep.

"Sleep," urged Sabriel. "It will do you a world of good."

Lirael was quite willing to believe her, and accepted the glorious refreshing sleep that came to her, one blessedly untroubled by dreams.

======================================================================================

There were bodies—bodies all around, dying people with only one shred of hope, to which they clung in vain. Someone would rescue them. That was their one hope, rapidly fading as time stretched on, and the seconds counted down for the vast amount of people.

_Their one hope stood in the body of one young man, a boy in the eyes of some, and his Charter Magic that was said to heal everything instantly at his command. All these people's lives rested on him._

_But he didn't have the strength, he could not possibly save every person._

_He would just have to save as many as he could, and maybe kill himself in the process._

_But then, a flow of energy, coming from his ankle, someone grabbing it—and though it seemed to come from a dying person, it was bright and golden and seemed to warm his very bones. He suddenly had the confidence and the strength to save all these people, and heal their broken bodies. He alone._

_No. He was not alone, he realized. That golden touch symbolized that someone was with him…someone who could always save him…_

Time was slowly ticking away, and he realized how little of it he had. He had to heal them all, or else he'd never be able to live with himself afterwards…

======================================================================================

"Nick!" someone was shouting his name. The voice was slightly muffled, which led Nicholas Sayre to believe that whoever it was was standing behind the door. That was just too bad, he thought, turning over in his bed.

A loud flurry of knocks succeeded the call. Nick grumbled before understanding that the person would not go away until he answered, or showed some kind of sign that he was awake.

"I'm here," he said irritably, sitting up.

The door opened, yielding his tormentors. Ellimere and Sam. Of course, thought Nick dimly. They'd been waking him up like that ever since he came to the Belisaere Palace…though Sam less as enthusiastically. Sam's expression could be compared to that of one of the Dead.

"You must come to breakfast," chirped Ellimere, with more cheerfulness than Nick thought possible for an early morning.

"Alright, let a chap get dressed first," said Nick, waving Ellimere away. She went, slightly miffed, but understood the nature of privacy to the extent that she would leave Nick alone while he was getting dressed. Sam, however, lingered, waiting for his old friend  to prepare.

"Guess who's come," announced Sam as Nick pulled on a shirt.

"I'd rather not, thanks," replied Nick, rummaging for a belt. "If I could, I would know the scientific facts, rather than create a hypothesis before testing it out—"

"Nick," said Sam, shaking his head. "I thought we cured you of your scientific nature."

"Can't change a chap in personality," said Nick brightly as he finished dressing. "It's…ah…instinct, yes. Something that no one can 'cure' me of, as you so termed it."

"Anyway," resumed Sam, grinning at his friend, "Aunt Lirael's here! She arrived last night."

"Did she?" asked Nick with interest. "That's wonderful news, old chap. Lirael! It'd be good to see her again. Why's she…? Ah," Nick amended, answering his own unfinished question when Sam gave him a look. "That Glacier. Right." He nodded fervently. "It's her home, isn't it?"

"She grew up there, yes," said Sam as the two boys went down to breakfast, where they knew Ellimere was waiting.

"I see," said Nick, suddenly remembering something. The force of the memory so shocked him that he stopped walking for a moment. Sam paused too, frowning, but Nick shook his head and smiled cheerily before continuing on. "Just thinking."

"You think too much," Sam teased softly.

But Nick had just recalled the dream he'd had the night before. He was surrounded by countless bodies—and he somehow felt compelled that he alone could save them. Now that was strange, he thought, shaking his head. Nicholas Sayre was nobody's hero.

A/N: Yes, I apologize for the somewhat short chapters, and the abrupt endings, such as this one. I'm trying to keep each chapter down to a certain maximum length, and this chapter would just have kept going and going and going…so I stopped it there. Rather awkward, I know, but shush. No one will know…

Anyway, aside from the sudden ending in this chapter, how do you like the plot? Please, if you have any criticism, share it with me. Flames I will not accept, nor will I tolerate them. If you wish to insult my work, then do it with some sort of argument, so that you're not just basing it on…whatever flamers base their junk on. And please refrain from insulting me, because reviews are for the story, not the author's personality.

Yes. That is my mini-speech of the day. Thank you -bows-


	5. The Council

_Chapter 4 :: The Council_

Lirael awoke to Sabriel's voice, softly calling her name. She stood up from her bed, realizing that in her tiredness of the previous night, she had gone to sleep on top of the blankets, still wearing her clothes. Hastily she changed before meeting her sister outside of the room.

Sabriel looked worse for wear. Lines of weariness etched her face, and she appeared as if sleep had increased her exhaustion rather than cure it. Nevertheless, she gave a tired smile for Lirael before taking her to breakfast in the Hall.

"Have a nice sleep?" asked the Queen.

Lirael nodded. "Yes, it was refreshing. I'm ready to…well, I'm ready to sit around on a table and talk," she said, with a mild joke.

Sabriel gave a small smile, which quickly vanished as she replied. "Yes, Lirael…today we talk. Tomorrow we take action…if we can. Though," she added grimly, "it will be hard to decide what we can do about something as natural as the Glacier melting. Perhaps…perhaps it is just time…the Glacier is, after all, very old."

Lirael nodded but did not answer. She did not trust herself to open her mouth, lest all her fears and tears come rushing out. Though most of her memories of Clayr's Glacier were of being a misfit, and not particularly happy, she did remember being a Second Assistant Librarian; of creating the Disreputable Dog; of the twins, Sanar and Ryelle…and she did not wish for the Glacier to be reduced to nothing but a few sparse memories.

The two walked on in silence, respectable of one another, until they got to the Hall, were a great feast of a breakfast was laid out for them. Sabriel took the seat beside her husband, Touchstone, who smiled at her, and Lirael took a seat between Sam and Nick. Both greeted her enthusiastically, and she smiled and spoke to them in return, but she seemed distant; her eyes kept staring into space, focused on something neither boy could see.

At last, it was time for the council. Sabriel, Touchstone, Ellimere, Sam, Nick, Lirael, and Mogget (who had devoured an entire plateful of fish at breakfast) went to the council room. It would be a private sort of meeting, discussing something that was not yet ready to be made public yet. What if the news of the Glacier melting was only rumors? It would be, on top of everything else, horribly embarrassing, after they had made such a big deal out of something that was only fiction…

Once they had all seated around the council table, the King began it. "You all know why we are here—you are the only ones I trust with these news, until we can be sure. We'll start out by listing all the facts of the case…will anyone take notes?"

"I will," Nick volunteered, accepting the parchment and quill Touchstone proffered.

"Now," Sabriel picked up where her husband left off. "Three days ago, a message-hawk came to us, screeching that Clayr's Glacier was melting." Nick instantly began jotting information down as the Queen went on. "We were unable to confirm who sent it, however, since it was in a voice no one had ever heard before. Also, the frantic shrieking of the voice was able to distort any familiarity in the voice. However, for the sake of the possible danger, we will assume this report is indeed true, and now will further discuss what is to be done."

"Go to Clayr's Glacier," Ellimere suggested tentatively. "See for ourselves."

"A trip to the Glacier is absolutely necessary, of course," agreed her father. "But the question remains, once we're there, what should we do?"

Silence greeted this question, since it was the question that the council was based on. Finally Lirael said, "On our way here, Mogget hinted that the binding of the Destroyer might have to do with the Glacier melting…" she let the sentence hang, and looked expectantly at the white cat, who was lounging carelessly on the table near Sabriel. Mogget looked up, seemed to be deliberately not answering, but then nodded confirmation.

"Yes. It is a curious _coincidence_, I might say, that a few years after a such an event, that an age-old structure begins to erode. In fact, it is possible that the Glacier had begun to melt on that very day, only it hasn't been noticeable until now. Which means," Mogget added, dramatically pausing to look each council member in the eye, "whatever is causing this erosion is getting stronger."

Everyone was now staring at the cat, almost disbelieving. Nick had even paused in his frantic scribbling to blink at Mogget, as though he couldn't believe such a conclusion could come from an animal so seemingly harmless and innocent. Mogget alone seemed unperturbed by the uncomfortable silence, bending over to indifferently clean a paw.

Finally Sam spoke. "So…somehow, Orannis has to do with this…"

"That does appear to be the case," agreed Nick, wincing upon hearing the name of the Destroyer, who had possessed him.

"Indirectly," put in Sabriel. "Perhaps, when we bound him, some power escaped. Remember, it did have the wrath to…" she didn't finish, glancing at Lirael. Suddenly Lirael knew what she had been about to say, and averted her eyes. She didn't want to be reminded of her grief of the Disreputable Dog's death, especially not now, after so long, and now that they're confronted with a new enemy, of sorts. "…to make a marvelous display," the Abhorsen finished, quite lamely. But no one was fooled, with the possible exception of Nick, who hadn't been there at the binding.

"In any case," Touchstone said, "given that information, I doubt…" he paused, and looked apologetic. "It grieves me to say it, but I doubt there is anything we can do to save the Glacier. However," he went on quickly, as Lirael looked up sharply, "we can save the Clayr who reside there, and many of their portable possessions. We will also have to find a place for them to stay, though I doubt there is any one structure equivalent to the Glacier in size or convenience. It is the only possible solution," he concluded heavily.

Another period of silence. There seemed to be many of them in this particular council. Lirael was fighting the sudden tide of emotion that had swelled up within her, as well as the image she fantasized. Hundreds of Clayr, faces both known and unknown, trekking to some unfamiliar, foreign land, lugging rucksacks, sad looks on all their faces, with the little ones demanding why they had to leave…

Lirael was interrupted in her depressing daydream by Sam, who said, "If they can find a place in the mountains…I can help rebuild their colony."

The others looked at him. It had been discovered in the past that Prince Sameth had inherited talent not unlike the legendary Wallmakers, and this had been proven time and time again. Of course, he had never yet built anything as large scale as the Wall that divided the Old Kingdom from Ancelstierre. Plus, if he took on such a huge project, he would be the only one with his skills. It would undoubtedly be a hard task, yet his aid in building something of a second home for the Clayr would be extremely helpful.

"Let us hope it does not come to that," said Sabriel gravely. Lirael nodded mutely, not trusting herself to say anything.

"I think that we should go to the Glacier without delay," announced Touchstone. "But we should not all go at once, so that we do not attract too much attention. We shall go in little parties." He hesitated, seeming to glance at his wife almost tenderly before going on. "Any volunteers to go first?"

"I will go," Sabriel said immediately, and Touchstone nodded, but he did not meet her gaze. He had known all along she would go, of course; there was nothing he could do to prevent her will.

"Me too," said Ellimere.

Touchstone looked affectionately at his wife and daughter. "So be it, then," he said quietly. "You two shall take the Paperwing and go. Send us a message-hawk if you find out anything important. Another party will join you soon." He was trying to seem nonchalant and brisk, but his eyes betrayed him. Lirael saw they held loving concern for Sabriel and Ellimere, and fear that something might go horrendously wrong. He loved his family, that much was clear.

"Well, if there is nothing else to say…?" Touchstone inquired. When no one answered, he nodded. "Then, this meeting is adjourned." He added, more quietly, "May the Charter be with us."

There were murmurs of agreement as everyone stood to leave. But Lirael was still looking at Sabriel and Ellimere, having a horrible gut feeling again, and hoping against hope that they would be all right.


	6. Life at the Palace

Chapter 5 :: Life at the Palace 

The next day, Sabriel and Ellimere parted with the others. It was not a sentimental parting, since that would reveal that they were worried, and it was not good to show fear. The two women climbed into the Paperwing, while the others looked on in silent reverence. When the Abhorsen whistled the Charter Marks to lift off, Touchstone raised his hand in farewell, and Sabriel did likewise. It would be their only acknowledgement that they were parting: they would, after all, be reunited very soon. But Lirael's feeling of unease increased as she watched the Queen and her daughter disappear into the distance. It was impossible not to think that if anything happened to Sabriel, she would be the one to take her place.

She was forced to abate that feeling, however, and smile as though everything was all right. The others had been able to return to daily life as though nothing had happened; only she knew better. Sameth had disappeared off to his workshop, and Lirael knew that instead of making toys he was figuring out the monstrous task ahead of him.

So she went to visit him, having nothing else better to do than sit around and worry constantly. He was absently tinkering at some thing or another, but Lirael could plainly see his mind was elsewhere. Apparently she was not the only one who worried. She sat on one of the workbenches nearby, and watched on in silence.

Finally she said, "Do you think…they'll be able to help the Clayr?"

Sam didn't answer for a moment, and Lirael wondered if she would have to repeat the question. He looked as though he was in some far-off land that only he could see. At length, he said, "They'll do what they can. Ellimere will probably organize schedules for all of them, and M—Sabriel will track down anything that'll try to take advantage of the Glacier melting. Of course, if the Glacier _isn't_ actually melting…" he let that hang.

"But we can't hope for that," Lirael said miserably. She almost regretted not volunteering to go with Sabriel and Ellimere, but she knew that, should something happen to Sabriel, she would be the only one to replace her. But she was definitely frustrated, and saddened at the same time; she desperately wanted to be with her people, to _do_ something instead of sitting around speculating.

"It can't hurt," replied Sam, in response to her despairing remark.

Lirael sighed. "What're you doing?" she asked him.

"I'm making a bracelet that changes color whenever the wearer wills it," he answered, showing her his progress. "I think that Ellimere would like it…she's always fond of trinkets—"

"It's pretty," Lirael said absently, not looking at it. "But what are you _thinking_?"

Sam set the bracelet back on the table and turned to face her, giving her his total attention for the first time. "Thinking about—how to rebuild the Glacier," he said shortly.

"But it's impossible," Lirael found herself protesting. "You're just one person, and the Glacier's made of ice, not brick or metal. Even if you _could_ build something that big…you'd have to shape it around the mountains, and you'd have to build the Observatory, which is basically part of the Clayr's magic—"

"Lirael," he said patiently, "don't you think I _know_ all that? It's not impossible, and I wouldn't be alone. Surely there are people who can build regular walls and things like that…if I could enlist their help, I could add the magic later, and it could work."

Lirael shook her head. "It's crazy, and I hope it won't have to come to that. The Glacier's slow at melting…" But she was unsure. What if it _did_ come to that the only hope of the Clayr's survival lay in the hands of a single, inexperienced Wallmaker?

Sam had no answer to that. Instead, he said, "I think we should go to Nick now. It's time for his Charter lesson…"

"I'll help," Lirael volunteered. "Since there's nothing else to do…"

"I'm warning you," Sam said, "he's quite good at two things: fire and healing. Those are his strong points. C'mon, he's waiting…"

Lirael followed her nephew through the palace, which had everyday life going on as usual. No one would have guessed that the Queen and the Princess were gone on an important, somewhat dangerous, and very futile mission.

They found Nicholas Sayre in the courtyard, waiting for them, his head tilted to one side with a slight dreamy look; clearly his attention was elsewhere, as had been Sam's. But, from the looks of it, Nick's daydream was more pleasant.

"'Lo, Nick," greeted Sam sitting beside his friend.

He was instantly roused. "Ah, hello there Sam! And Lirael," he added in slight surprise, just noticing her. "What brings you here?"

"I believe you have a Charter lesson due at the moment," she replied with a thin smile.

He blinked, then smiled. "Oh, of course. Naturally. I didn't realize—ah, you're helping, Lirael?"

She shrugged, the smile remaining. "Nothing better to do," she said honestly.

"I appreciate the concern," Nick said somewhat dryly. He turned and slapped Sam on the back. "Well, let's begin, ol' friend. What's on the agenda today?"

"Show Lirael your fireball," urged Sam.

Nick looked stricken. "I wouldn't want it to set anything afire!" he protested.

"Then don't send it anywhere," Lirael pointed out the obvious answer.

Nick looked sheepish. "Ah, yes, of course." He seemed to be uncertain, and tried to concentrate on the Charter—but clearly, having an audience other than his usual tutor increased his nerves and self-conscience. He fumbled once, then twice, getting a spark but nothing more.

"Relax," ordered Sam calmly, "focus. There's just you and the Charter…"

As Nick obeyed, he spoke the Charter Mark, and a very healthy ball of fire expanded in his hands. He inflated it, then caused it to spin, then to swirl around him, then dissipated it with a clap of his hands. Lirael had seen more impressive demonstrations, but given their confined space and the chance that they may injure someone, it was all in all not bad. Especially considering how long Nick had been taking lessons—and how long he'd even started _believing_ in magic. And he wasn't tired from his efforts in the slightest! Clearly he had plenty of energy to expend.

"Now your healing," persuaded Sam. Obviously he wanted Nick to impress Lirael with his stronger points in magic.

"But what's there to heal?" Nick asked. "I don't really intend on cutting myself, so—"

"You can heal fatigue, right?" asked Lirael. "Well, I'm rather tired. Perhaps you can heal that."

Nick seemed startled at the suggestion, but nodded. "I'll, ah, try my best." He closed his eyes, and reached into the Charter once more. Now that he had done it once without stumbling, it was easier for him to do it again. He spoke another Mark, and Lirael felt like she was plunging through cool water—though she wasn't getting wet. When it ended, she found she was feeling much more energetic, and no trace of her weariness at all.

"Thank you," she said, smiling graciously at Nick. He scratched his head sheepishly, accepting her gratitude with something resembling shyness. But that was ridiculous—Nick was anything but shy.

"Don't let these little demonstrations fool you," Sam told Lirael. "Nick's a better healer than I've ever been. He always seems to have energy for more, too. I swear, we should employ him as a village healer." He grinned at his friend.

"Oh, no," Nick protested. "How would I ever discover anything interesting if I lived my life as a hermit? No, no, I'll stay here, thank you!"

"Still," Sam persisted, "you must admit you have a knack."

"Fine, I have a knack," said Nick, seeming a little exasperated. "Now, can we get on with the lesson?"

Lirael found herself smiling as she followed their dialogue, her feeling of apprehension momentarily forgotten. Apparently, fatigue was not all Nick could cure her of.

A/N: Hmm…another abrupt ending…well, this was just a filler chapter. The next one should be more interesting. Thank you, faithful readers, for reading on! I hope I won't disappoint you.


	7. Capture

_Chapter 6 :: Capture_

She was a tall figure of a woman, but she was not alive. Far from it, indeed. She was one of the Greater Dead, and she had influential powers beyond that of any ordinary Dead creature. A bronze mask glinted in the bare starlight of the night as she waited. This was the rendezvous, the spot where she would meet with her ally and arrange their next plan.

Chlorr of the Mask usually did not like working with necromancers. Her first experience with one, named Hedge, gave her little advantage; indeed, because of that agreement she'd had to flee from Ancelstierre in the form of a bird. Still, that flight was better than the alternative; giving way to Saraneth's call and going beyond the Ninth Gate, a place Chlorr never wished to see. Yet this pact with the necromancer was necessary, and quite beneficial.

Chlorr turned as a noise approached, along with the corrosive tang of Free Magic. But Chlorr reveled in that scent; it was, ultimately, what she was after. It was Free Magic that had forced her to necessity and work with a necromancer. But this necromancer was quite unlike Hedge: she was malleable.

The woman named Elixiol strode forth into the clearing, wearing the customary bell-bandolier that most Dead like Chlorr so feared. But she had no reason to fear Elixiol, since she knew honor would bind the necromancer more tightly than any rope. This was why Chlorr enjoyed working with Elixiol, because of that wonderful honor.

Elixiol pushed back dark brown hair to reveal glaring green eyes that challenged Chlorr. "Let's make this fast, Mask," she said, and there was a hint of a snarl in her voice. She always insisted on calling Chlorr by her title rather than by name. "I have places to go, things to do."

"That I highly doubt," hissed Chlorr. "But in any case. What news have you?"

The necromancer stood a little straighter, because Chlorr was acting as though she was a queen, and Elixiol nothing but a pawn. "No information that you don't already have, I'm sure," she said cuttingly, "because you are so wise, and your Dead see all."

Chlorr laughed bitterly. "Give it up, mortal. You know something. Now, I suggest you speak, since we are in this together…you won't get any of that Free Magic without my help."

This seemed to impact Elixiol especially, but she didn't show it. "Then," she said somewhat reluctantly, "I will tell you that the Abhorsen and her daughter are on their way to the Glacier."

This was news. Chlorr  took an interest. "From where?"

"Belisaere, of course."

"By what?"

"Air. They're in a Paperwing."

"So," the Greater Dead muttered. "So news of it has reached as far as Belisaere. That's too bad." She turned back to Elixiol. "Can they be intercepted?"

"By Gore Crows."

"We have plenty of those, both of yours and mine."

"Yes," Elixiol agreed somewhat gruffly, seemingly not pleased.

"Should we wait until they land, and attack with our armies instead?"

"No. That will give them time to get to running water and form diamonds of protection. It is best to attack while they are still airborne, where they are most vulnerable."

"But Gore Crows are weak, and this is the Abhorsen," Chlorr mused. "Perhaps—we can force them to land, and not give them time to flee, so we can attack from the ground as well."

"We should designate an area where the Gore Crows will be released, and force them to land," Elixiol agreed.

"But we do not know their route."

"It will not be far from the Glacier. We can do it safely enough there—and we'll be stronger the closer we are."

Chlorr agreed, but was uncertain still. "What of the Clayr?"

"The Clayr are too busy trying to See a way to stop their precious Glacier from melting, and some of them are being struck down by the Free Magic, while others tend to those who are sick. They are preoccupied, and probably wouldn't notice if we kidnapped the Abhorsen and her daughter from right under their noses." Elixiol sounded positive.

"Then it is agreed," Chlorr said. "Tomorrow we shall both send out numerous flocks of our Gore Crows, to attack the Paperwing containing the Abhorsen and her daughter. They will, undoubtedly, be forced to land, where they can fight the Crows more easily; and there our Dead armies will be waiting to ambush them. The Abhorsen is strong, but not strong enough to conquer numerous Dead Hands and Shadow Hands. Not to mention that, if we capture her daughter first, she will be compelled to comply. But we must not harm them if we can; they will serve as precious hostages. Is that clear?"

Elixiol curled her lip. "Crystal," she said icily.

"Good. Now go."

Instantly Saraneth was in Elixiol's hand, and she held the clapper menacingly toward Chlorr. "You had better not talk to me like that, Mask," Elixiol hissed. "Remember who has the greater power here. Remember who can send whom into Death!"

But Chlorr was not disturbed. "Remember who needs who here. Remember also who lacks the experience of sending the Dead back where they belong; that is solely the Abhorsen and the Abhorsen-in-Waiting's job. You wouldn't dare, mortal," sneered the Greater Dead. "Now run along. And one more thing to remember: true power lies not in physical force, but in nerve as well."

Elixiol, seething, could only do what Chlorr suggested. She replaced Saraneth angrily, and stalked off, enraged. Chlorr was not concerned. Elixiol had thrown these little temper tantrums before, and Chlorr had pacified her just as she had. There was no doubt who had the greater power among the two. Chlorr drifted away without any fear whatsoever.

======================================================================================

"Is something wrong, Mother?" asked Ellimere nervously as they flew through the air.

For Sabriel's Death sense was tingling. "Ellimere," she said calmly, "you must not panic. We are going to land. There are Gore Crows here."

"Gore Crows!" Sabriel could hear the horror in her daughter's voice.

"You must remain calm, Ellimere. Promise me that." Silence. "Promise me that!" Sabriel repeated, more forcefully.

Then, a tiny voice from the passenger's seat: "I promise."

Sabriel whistled sharply, and the Paperwing began to glide down. Sabriel had encountered Gore Crows when she first rode a Paperwing, but now she was more experienced. She guided the Paperwing down, carefully, for there was nothing ahead of them but open plain. A landing should be simple and easy, and then Sabriel could disengage the Gore Crows from below.

It wasn't the Gore Crows themselves that Sabriel was worried about. It was Ellimere. It was true, her daughter had been through more than any average Princess, but the quaver in Ellimere's voice when she promised she would stay calm…it would be infinitely better if Sabriel fought the Gore Crows on the ground, where Ellimere would be safe, than in the air, where Crows would attack from all sides.

The flock broke through, and Sabriel nearly stopped whistling. It was an enormous flock! Never had she seen larger. Too much for a single necromancer to summon…but Sabriel didn't have time to ponder the mystery. She swiftly guided the Paperwing down, ignoring the Gore Crows until they were safe on land.

But they wouldn't be safe! Sabriel almost had the Paperwing landed when her Death sense tingled again, and it indicated something much larger than Gore Crows. Dead Hands, undoubtedly…even Shadow Hands. But the Ratterlin was close; if they could just get there…

Instantly, the Gore Crows attacked! Ellimere whimpered, but tried to stifle it, knowing that if she made any sound she might break her mother's concentration. But Ellimere suddenly felt like a little girl again, instead of a young woman: helpless, vulnerable, frightened. But she promised her mother…

Sabriel found it difficult to both navigate the Paperwing and get out a bell at the same time. She selected Kibeth, the Walker, who would send many Gore Crows' spirits walking back to the Ninth Gate. Of course, if she took out one crow, she would be taking out many, since several crows shared the same spirit. Sabriel let the clapper go and rang the bell, forcing her will into the sound, making the crows walk. Many nearby screeched and fell, rotting crows no longer animated by the Dead. Ellimere was, no doubt, appalled by the sight of the numerous crows dropping soundlessly.

But there were too many, and Sabriel realized she had to land, or else the crows would tear apart the Paperwing. So she whistled the last Charter Mark, and the Paperwing landed, clumsily, but it remained intact.

Instantly Sabriel leapt out, exchanging Kibeth for Saraneth, and ringing the deep heavy bell. More Gore Crows stopped as she bound them to her will and sent them back into Death. But there were still many more…

And the Dead Hands were coming…

Dead Hands and Shadow Hands…

Sabriel rang Saraneth with all her might, forcing as many Dead who could hear it to her will. But they still kept on coming…

So Sabriel fought on, despite how the odds were terribly against her, and she still had to protect Ellimere. She was even considering taking out Astarael, the largest and most sorrowful of them all, and telling Ellimere to run far away, so she wouldn't be affected…but just as Sabriel was reaching for the coldest bell, a voice stopped her.

"Cease this, Abhorsen."

Sabriel knew that voice. The voice of so many years ago, of a creature of the Greater Dead—once an Abhorsen herself, Chlorr of the Mask was still as formidable as ever. Sabriel turned toward where Chlorr was.

Ellimere lay in the Greater Dead's arms, fainted.

"No need for unnecessary heroics, Abhorsen," Chlorr added, seeing Sabriel once again reach for Astarael's pouch. "Just surrender to us, and I promise we won't hurt you. Isn't that right, Elixiol?"

A dark-haired, green-eyed woman stepped out from behind Chlorr. A necromancer! A faint ring of familiarity struck Sabriel. Perhaps she'd heard of that necromancer…a northern necromancer, far north from Belisaere. Elixiol.

"No," Elixiol agreed, her green eyes glittering with menace. The terrible smell of Free Magic accompanied her and Chlorr, so that Sabriel nearly fainted with the odor. "We shan't hurt you, Abhorsen."

"Surrender," Chlorr urged. "Don't make us use your daughter to influence you. I'd really rather you'd come of your own will. Give up the bandolier, Abhorsen."

Sabriel, above all, wanted no harm done to Ellimere. Cursing herself for her weakness, she replaced Saraneth and hesitantly handed the bandolier over to Elixiol, who took it eagerly. Sabriel had submitted to the will of these terrible Dead creatures.

"Good," said Chlorr approvingly. "Now come with us."


	8. A Look in the Past

_Chapter 7 :: A Look in the Past_

It had been several days since Sabriel and Ellimere had set off for Clayr's Glacier. It normally didn't take very long for the Paperwing to get to the Glacier; perhaps a day at most. But nearly a week had passed, and no word from them.

King Touchstone I told himself not to be worried. His wife and daughter could take care of themselves. After all, Sabriel was the Abhorsen, one of the most powerful Charter Mages in the Old Kingdom, and Ellimere was no helpless maiden herself. Nevertheless, it had been many days, and nothing. No message-hawk or anything.

Touchstone forced himself to remain calm. Two days ago he had sent out a message-hawk to Clayr's Glacier, inquiring Sabriel how things were going over there. Surely he would get a reply soon, and he would know that everything was all right.

Suddenly, a servant requested his attention. Touchstone turned, not daring to hope, and quietly said, "What is it?"

"Message-hawk for you, Your Majesty." Another servant came in, bearing the bird on his arm, and gave it to Touchstone. The two then bowed and departed, leaving the King alone with the message.

The message-hawk, once it was assured that this was who it had been sent to, revealed the reply.

_"Your Majesty, King Touchstone,_

We have received your message-hawk, as we had Seen we would. But there is trouble: Queen Sabriel and Princess Ellimere never arrived at the Glacier. We do not know what fate befell them, but we have a suggestion. Lirael, the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, is also a Remembrancer. She has the power to look back in the past and see what happened to cause them such a delay. We apologize for being the bearers of bad news, and wish you well."

That was all there was. Touchstone stared at the hawk in disbelief, then in worriment. Sabriel and Ellimere never reached the Glacier. No doubt they were stopped along the way…but what happened? Who could have done such a thing?

Touchstone rose, and went to find Lirael, the only one who could find out.

======================================================================================

Lirael opened her eyes and found herself standing in the impossibly cold river in Death. The roar of the First Gate could be heard off in the distance. Lirael had come here many times before, but only twice to use the Dark Mirror and look back in the past. Luckily, she didn't need to go all the way to the Ninth Precinct to see what happened to Sabriel and Ellimere. The First Precinct would do.

Lirael got out her Dark Mirror, and stared into it, concentrating, forming the request. _Show me what happened to the Abhorsen and her daughter a few days ago, on the Paperwing, headed to Clayr's Glacier._

Soon, an image formed. Lirael watched closely, but with one eye in Death in case an intrusion came, and the other focusing on the scene played out in the Mirror. She viewed how Sabriel was forced to land because of the Gore Crows, how she valiantly tried to defend Ellimere from the vast amounts of Dead, the capture of Ellimere, and Sabriel's defeated surrender. Lirael was able to get a good look at the antagonists who committed such a terrible crime. One was a woman who Lirael could tell was a necromancer, from the bell-bandolier she wore. And the other was a face, a bronze mask she knew so well…a face she thought she had seen the last of a few years ago, when Chlorr of the Mask fled Ancelstierre. Immediately her blood ran cold: Chlorr was back, and now she had the Abhorsen in her power. Who knew what horrific crimes she could perform now?

Lirael tore her gaze away from the Dark Mirror, having seen enough. She turned against the current of the river, forcing her way back into the warmth of Life. Now she knew who she was up against.

_Of all the criminals of the world, it _had_ to be Chlorr,_ she thought, dismayed. _It _had_ to be her. It couldn't just be the work of a single necromancer…Chlorr had to have some part in it as well. Curse the luck._

She vividly remembered her first battle against the Greater Dead creature. How Sam had nearly died at the hands of Chlorr…how only the Disreputable Dog had saved him…how Chlorr and her Dead had murdered an entire village of innocent people. Lirael had been too late then. Would she be too late now? Could she save Sabriel and Ellimere?

She came back to her frost-encrusted body, and found apprehensive faces watching her. She sighed, shook off the rest of the frost, and sat down, her head in her hands. As if things couldn't get any worse…

"Lirael?" asked Sam, his voice full of concern and nervousness. "Lirael, what's wrong?"

She didn't look up when she answered flatly. "It's her, Sam. Chlorr of the Mask. She kidnapped Sabriel and Ellimere."

She heard a sharp intake of breath, and looked up finally. Sam looked stricken, Nick confused, and Touchstone was livid. Lirael, looking at the King, suddenly felt a pang of fear; Touchstone looked practically murderous. But the moment passed, and he was calm again, though Lirael knew he was still enraged.

"Who is this, ah…Chlorr of the Mask?" asked Nick.

It was Sam who replied. "She worked for Hedge, Nick. A Greater Dead creature. I thought we were rid of her for good…"

"No, Sam," said Touchstone, his voice shockingly placid. Lirael knew he was restraining the almost uncontrollable anger inside him, and shivered. Only a fool would mess with the King. "One thing I've learned about the Greater Dead is that unless they're sent beyond the Ninth Gate, they're not gone. They always find a way to come back." He was thinking of his half-brother Kerrigor, and the events that took place over twenty years ago. It was true that Kerrigor was not dead, merely bound, and that made Touchstone uneasy whenever he thought about it. But Kerrigor was as good as dead, forever sleeping under the influence of the smallest bell, Ranna.

"Now what?" Nick asked quietly, speaking the question on everyone's mind.

Lirael knew what she had to do. "I have to go after them." She stood.

Sam stood with her. "Not without me!"

"_No_, Sam." Lirael had never heard Touchstone's tone so final, so harsh. He was looking at his son with a hard gaze. "Sameth, you will stay. I'll not lose my only other relative to that witch."

Sam looked defiant for a moment, like he was ready to go no matter what his father said. But he deflated, and said morosely, "Yes, Dad. I'll stay. But Dad—what about Lirael? She can't go alone."

"I will not endanger any one else's life," Lirael said automatically, although she felt unsure. She didn't like the idea of going out alone to save Sabriel and Ellimere from a formidable Greater Dead creature—but, she knew, the nature of being an Abhorsen is to be alone.

"I'll go with her," declared Nick so suddenly that everyone in the room stared at him.

Lirael had mixed emotions. "Nick, are you sure? I don't want to put your life at risk. I'll be facing the Dead, and many of them."

"It's no walk in the park," put in Sam.

Nick nodded. "I know. But, according to _you_, Sam, I've gotten really good at controlling fire. And Lirael can't fight off all the Dead by herself."

"But…" Lirael protested weakly. "If you—if something happens to you, Nick…"

"It'll be my responsibility," he said cheerfully. "I volunteered, after all."

"Nick, ol' buddy…" Sam said, forcing a smile.

Nick clapped his friend on the shoulder. "I'll be all right, Sam. I know more about the Old Kingdom than I used to."

"Yeah," agreed Sam feebly.

Touchstone, meanwhile, was watching Nick with a new kind of respect. A young man from Ancelstierre, plunged involuntarily into the world of the Charter, the Dead, and Free Magic, had grown much in the past few years. Touchstone saw a little bit of himself in Nick, and approved. "Then you shall both set off tomorrow," he said softly. "I'll give you all the supplies you need. I don't like it, sending two more off into the unknown, but…Charter be with you," he finished quietly, but forcefully.

Sam echoed his father, and added to Nick, "Flame a Dead Hand for me."

Nick smiled. "Will do, ol' chap," he said brightly, with unfailing optimism.

Lirael also nodded distractedly, her mind elsewhere. She would have to face Chlorr of the Mask again…but this time, she felt certain, this time…she wouldn't let Chlorr fly away. This time, she would send Chlorr to see the stars on the Ninth Gate, and then make her walk beyond it.


	9. The Journey

Chapter 8 :: The Journey 

Lirael and Nick, as promised, set out from Belisaere the next day. They were astride two fine horses, with plenty of food. Lirael had her bell-bandolier strapped on, and her Abhorsen surcoat donned. She also carried, in a sheath, the sword Nehima, her trustworthy weapon that she had carried since she left the Clayr's Glacier. Now, for the first time since she left it, she was going back to it. But it wasn't going to be like the Glacier she departed from. She tried not to think about the half-melted Glacier that she once called home. First, she had to rescue Sabriel and Ellimere. That task alone required all of her concentration.

She and Nick headed west, toward the Glacier, following the general route Sabriel had taken with the Paperwing. Sometimes she would chat with Nick, who always was able to make her smile, but most of the time they rode in silence, just enjoying one another's company. Now that Lirael had accepted that Nick was as determined as she was, she was glad he'd come along with her. She wouldn't have been thrilled if she had to make the journey and face the Dead alone. Nick's presence allowed her to relax slightly.

They stopped after a few hours of riding to have lunch. As Nick reached in one of the saddlebags, a slight hissing made him jump back, alert. "You ought to watch where you're rummaging about," said the saddlebag in a familiar, sarcastic voice Lirael knew too well.

"Mogget!" she said crossly as the white cat emerged, yawning and shaking himself as if to rid himself of something. The collarless cat leaped down nimbly, and began carelessly lick a paw. "What are you doing her?" she demanded of him.

"Riding, obviously," drawled Mogget, looking up at last. "Well, more like bouncing about, enough to scramble my brains—_he_ clearly needs more riding practice," he added, and Nick sheepishly scratched his head.

"But why did you come with us?" Lirael asked, losing her anger. It was hard to stay mad at the cat.

Mogget looked up, his gaze flat. "Do you expect a girl who can look in the past and a boy who a few years ago didn't even _believe_ in magic to defeat an entire army of the Dead, and then to go on and stop a Glacier from melting?"

"So maybe a little white cat who can change into a dwarf will be able to do it instead?" Nick retorted.

"No," replied Mogget, showing complete indifference to Nick's returning insult, "I'm just here to tell you how hopeless this mission is, and, if you continue to pursue it, maybe lead you away from falling into the same trap the Abhorsen did. Maybe. If I'm in the mood."

"Typical," muttered Nick. "A pessimist's opinion."

"Not pessimist," Mogget corrected; "Realist."

"Well," cut in Lirael, her feeling of uneasiness increased. "Let's eat, and then we can decide what to do."

As they ate, Nick and Mogget argued. Nick would rather be doing something useful than sitting around twiddling his thumbs all day, he said. Mogget continued in his calm persistence that at least Nick would be alive to twiddle his thumbs if he didn't persever on such a fruitless task. Nick argued that he would do some good, and with his and Lirael's skills, they were the best ones eligible to save Sabriel and her daughter. Mogget merely said that if that were the case, they might as well consider Sabriel and Ellimere dead already. At this point Lirael intervened.

"Mogget, why don't you _help_ us? With your abilities, we could probably save Sabriel and Ellimere."

"I'll sleep on it," replied the cat, and he instantly closed his eyes and fell asleep. Lirael sighed, slightly frustrated. Since Mogget was no longer controlled by Ranna, he didn't sleep as much as he used to, but apparently he still liked to at least pretend to sleep when he didn't want to talk with humans.

"We're going," said Nick firmly.

Lirael looked at him and smiled sadly. "Of course. It would take much more than a cat to persuade me to stop. I just hope he considers coming along. We could use his help."

Nick looked dubious. "A white cat?" he asked uncertainly.

"A white cat who happens to be Yrael, the one who turned the tide against Orannis," Lirael replied softly.

Nick flinched at the name, then nodded, but Lirael could tell he was still doubtful. After all, he hadn't been present at the binding, so had never seen Mogget at his full strength.

They finished their lunch and resumed their journey. Lirael was expecting to recognize the place of Sabriel's capture from what she had seen in the Dark Mirror, but all that was before was open plain. Here, nearly everything looked alike, so it would be nigh impossible to distinguish one part of the plain from another. Still, she was determined to succeed.

They rode until sunset. As Nick and Lirael set up camp and prepared to eat, Mogget finally awoke. He crawled out of the saddlebag he had been riding in and curled up by the small fire Nick had made. "Is it wise, lighting a fire for all to see, on a rather flammable dry plain?" he inquired.

Nick scowled at the cat, finding him more agitating than ever. "We'll put it out soon," he grumbled.

Mogget now spoke to Lirael. "I'll come with you," he informed her. "Partly because it's too far to travel back to the palace myself. In any case, I may as well stick with you two, since I have served the Abhorsen so long I'm continuing to do so out of mere habit. But mind you, I don't _have_ to help you."

Lirael smiled at the cat, having expected this. "Of course. You're doing this on your own free will. I'll never forget it."

But Mogget had already fallen asleep again, or so it seemed.

Nick, true to his word, put out the fire once they had finished warming their food. It was a spring night, so thankfully it was not terribly cold. "I'll take the first watch," he told Lirael.

She nodded, grateful. "Thank you, Nick," she said, stifling a yawn as she entered the little tent. "Wake me if you see anything." For the night was the time the Dead wandered the world most.

Nick watched the tent a little while after Lirael had gone in, then sighed and turned back to the lonesome duty of keeping watch. At times, he felt as though his eyelids would close on their own accord, but he forced them open to stare at the open plain before him. Nothing for miles and miles that he could see.

Several hours later, he was almost ready to turn the watch over to Lirael, when something caught his eye. A small black shape, blocking out a few stars in the sky as it moved overhead. Nick watched it with narrowed eyes, trying to see in the meager moonlight what it was. An owl, perhaps, seeking its hunt? Or something more…sinister?

Nick realized what it was a second before it disappeared from his sight. A single Gore Crow. A scout for the Dead.

He turned to wake Lirael, feeling an ominous emotion rise in his chest. The Dead were watching…

A/N: Yes, a rather short and pointless chapter. I've been  getting a lot of these lately…but this is leading up to the next chapter, which will be (hopefully) much more excitable. -nods- Yes. Apologies for the inconviences. Really. Truly.


	10. Attack of the Dead

Chapter 9 :: Attack of the Dead 

A/N: Long chapter, just what you've been waiting for! This is more than twice as long as the rest, but I didn't have the heart to break it into two chapters. Oh, and in a few places I'm not completely sure of my "facts," so if you find anything inaccurate I would be much obliged if you let me know, and I'll fix it ASAP. Enough of my babbling, on to the story!

"Lirael!…Lirael, wake up!"

Lirael forced her eyes open as she sat up, her hand automatically reaching for Nehima, which rested beside her in the tent. "What is it?" she called, softly, since Nick's urgent voice had only been a whisper.

"Gore Crow," he said breathlessly. He had poked his head in the entrance of the tent, without even thinking about modesty. Thankfully, Lirael had gone to sleep in her clothes, surcoat and all, barely taking time to take off her bandolier and sword. These two weapons she donned now as she sat up and joined her companion outside, forcing back fear. A single Gore Crow could only mean a scout, watching for a much larger force of Dead. Her worst fears were confirmed: Chlorr was near.

"Where?" she asked Nick.

He pointed to where he saw the crow only moments before it had disappeared in the darkness. Had it been lighter, and had she been paying closer attention, she would have seen that Nick's arm was shaking. Nick was no coward, but it was his first time encountering the Dead like this. He was no stranger to the Dead, but when he knew them, he had called them the "Night Crew," and had assumed they were only humans suffering a terrible disease. He quickly withdrew his arm, unwilling to let Lirael see him tremble.

She hadn't noticed. She was on high alert as she stared, eyes narrowed, in the direction Nick had indicated. Her grip on her sword tightened and she agitatedly touched one of the bells, her fingers unconsciously landing on the third bell. Kibeth. Her favorite bell, her one reminder of her lost friend of the same name.

"Diamonds," she muttered to herself. Nick inclined his head, confused.

"Pardon?"

"Diamonds of protection," she explained. "We should try to get at least one up. Sam ever teach you—?"

"One of the first things," Nicholas assured her.

"Let's make one around the campsite," was her response.

They quickly got to business, setting up the four marks around the site, including the tent, the horses, and the saddlebags. Once that was completed, they stood in the center and grasped each other's hands. It was easier to work together on a spell with some physical contact. In any other situation, Lirael would have blushed, but she was all business now. There was no time for pleasantries when the Dead were near.

She could feel her Death sense tingling, and knew that they had to work quickly. Together, she and Nick activated the West mark. Lirael found it easier, and her energy was hardly affected. Dimly, she realized what Sam had told her was true: Nick seemed to have boundless amounts of energy. Next they did the South mark, and that took more time and vigor, but eventually they got it. The East mark was harder still, but they accomplished it with plenty of energy to spare. Finally, they faced the North mark, which was most difficult because it was last. Normally, Lirael would have been barely able to complete the diamond of protection, with little strength to spare. But with Nick, she finished it with plenty of power for the inevitable battle ahead.

"There," said Lirael once they were done. She was a little out of breath, but was more than ready for the upcoming Dead. And they were close. They were _very_ close.

"That'll hold them for a while," she informed Nick. "But…be prepared to do some fighting."

He nodded grimly, and tried to smile as if this were no more than a cricket match in Ancelstierre. "I'm ready," he said, sounding bolder than he felt.

She returned a sad smile, knowing he would be nervous. She, too, was anxious, for as experienced as she was as an Abhorsen-in-Waiting, she still didn't like fighting the Dead. Especially not a vast army of them, sent by a long-ago enemy.

She felt something on her ankle and nearly beheaded the thing with Nehima. A sharp yowl let her know who the intruder was, and stayed her hand.

"Watch it," Mogget grumbled as he curled up by her feet.

Lirael nearly lost her patience with the cat. _"Mogget,"_ she said sternly. "We're about to fight an army of the Dead, sent by Chlorr of the Mask."

"And, of course, I'm here to help," he replied wanly. "This is why I followed you two. Mind you, I'm not going to do any actual _fighting_, but I figure I'll save your necks when you're in the most danger."

"You're so generous," Lirael said, smiling down almost fondly at the cat.

"I know it," he agreed, nonchalantly licking a paw.

Nick raised an eyebrow at Mogget, but said nothing. He was looking out past their diamond of protection, gripping a sword. Lirael had almost forgotten that he had carried such a weapon with him for the journey. But, of course, Nick wouldn't rely on the Charter alone for defense. She knew that Nick, in addition to Charter lessons, had been learning swordsmanship from the guards at the Belisaere Palace. She hoped that he was more prominent with the weapon than he was at horse riding.

Nick suddenly pointed, and Lirael realized that she had been staring at him the whole time she was contemplating. Hastily she followed his finger, hoping he hadn't noticed. She saw—and felt, as her Death sense prickled—the army they were so apprehensively waiting for. She had been too lost in her thoughts to notice, and cursed herself for her foolish daydreams. She couldn't afford to not pay attention to the situation.

"Here they come," she said softly, raising Nehima with one hand. The other tightened on Kibeth's pouch.

The first Dead Hands who reached the diamond of protection were too dull to realize the nature of the defense. They sizzled and vanished as they crashed into the invisible wall, sent back where they belonged, in Death. Only after several of the Hands had suffered this fate did the others begin to catch on. They stopped, a few feet away from the diamond. Lirael realized that for the moment, the only thing that stood between her and the almost innumerable Dead creatures was a thin, imperceptible shield. She prayed that Nick or Mogget wouldn't be compelled to walk into the diamond, breaking it. But they were all congregated at the center, so that seemed unlikely. Still, she worried.

A few moments passed, and the Dead force stared at the few creatures inside the diamond. Lirael wondered, hopefully, if they would be discouraged and would wander away. But there was little chance of that, she knew. She couldn't afford to disillusion herself with false hope.

Her Death sense pressed her so suddenly she almost lurched forward. Nick moved for her, concerned, but she was back on her feet in a moment. Her eyes, however, were wide in fright. Nick, seeing Lirael's fear, shuddered. Anything that scared Lirael had to be bad.

Lirael clamped down on her fear, and turned to Nick. "There's a Mordicant with them," she said dully.

Nick felt his high spirits plummet. He had learned about Mordicants, too. One of the Greater Dead. He sucked in a deep breath and tried to control his trembling. His grip on his sword tightened until he was sure he would get blisters just from holding the weapon.

Lirael, too, was nervous. The only way this situation could turn out to be worse was if Chlorr herself had been here, but a Mordicant was nearly as bad. She would have to work much harder than she figured. She would need all the help she could get, and sadly glanced from Nick to Mogget. Was it possible that they could prevail?

With the arrival of the Mordicant, the Dead Hands grew more confident. They knew that if they continued to attack the diamond of protection, eventually it would break, or at least be rendered too weak to prevent them from entering. The first Hands mindlessly crashed against the diamond, and Lirael winced as each one was sent back to Death. They would go through a lot of their army, but they were willing to make the sacrifice to get to Lirael, Nick, and Mogget.

"It's weakening," whispered Nick. He, too, felt their creation shudder with each Hand that threw itself against it.

"It'll hold," Lirael said faintly, but knew that it was a vain hope.

How long they stood there, watching in disgust as Hand after Hand plunged into their defense, Lirael couldn't say. All she was aware of was the first Hand that came through—unhindered. She froze, surprised, not expecting to be attacked so soon. The Dead Hand came after her, in her brief moment of paralysis. Suddenly, a glinting weapon soared through and decapitated the Hand. Lirael, startled, looked up into the concerned face of Nicholas.

"They're here," was all he said. All humor and smiles were gone from his visage now. His eyes were hard, but beneath them Lirael could see a sort of repulsion. Nick clearly didn't like chopping up bodies, as vile to life as they might be. Her respect for him raised another notch. Nicholas nodded once and rushed to the other side of the camp, where Hands were rushing in.

But she had work to do. She couldn't just stand there gaping as Dead Hands came through. The hand on the bell-bandolier almost reached into Kibeth's pouch, but changed at the last instant and went for Ranna. Nick, she knew, would be out of range, so he wouldn't be affected by the Sleeper. It would make her task easier if she struck down many of the Hands before her with sleep. She rang the bell, putting her will into it, forcing all who heard it to drop into slumber.

The first wave of Dead Hands before her fell under Ranna's influence. Lirael felt a tickle of fur by her foot and glanced down to see Mogget, likewise affected. She winced; she had forgotten about the cat. Putting it out of mind, she turned to face the Hands who had fallen. They had bought her precious time. She next drew out Kibeth, knowing that she would need Saraneth when the Mordicant came.

The cold bell nevertheless felt a little warm in her hand. Her heart twinged, missing the Disreputable Dog, but she couldn't think about that now. She swung the bell, letting its powerful tone sound out among the oncoming onslaught of Dead. Even the sleeping Hands were forced to Walk, into Death and beyond the Ninth Gate. Lirael had made a vast amount of Hands return to where they belonged…and still the horde came.

Ignoring the sleeping Mogget for the time being, she replaced Kibeth and held out Nehima. She needed to save her strength for the approaching Mordicant, and any other larger threats than simple Dead Hands. It was time to resort to swordfighting and Charter Magic. She swung her sword vehemently at the first Dead Hands who scrambled over their fallen comrades, slicing off limbs wherever blade met Dead flesh. The Hands who had been struck fell back, weakened. Lirael next reached into the Charter and summoned fire, which she flung at the nearing Hands. She struck true, burning several of the Hands.  And still they came…

Lirael wiped her perspiring brow and set to work.

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On the other side of the camp, Nicholas was faring similarly.

Near the beginning of the attack, when he had first parted from Lirael, he faintly heard the tinkle of a bell. Immediately he'd felt drowsy, but had fought this sudden lethargy. He lashed out with his sword, trying to kill as many Hands as possible. There were much less coming from this side, but still much more than Nick would have liked.

Before long, he tired of slashing at countless Hands. He remembered his promise to Sam, and smiled grimly. He would fulfill that now. Nick reached into the Charter, hardly realizing he was doing so without stumbling, for the first time. Sam had praised his talent with fire with good reason. Nick summoned a wave of flame, and as soon as it came to him he sent it at the mass of Dead creatures coming towards him. The wave leaped from his hands, spreading out in all directions when it reached the center of the horde. It burnt those who it touched to a crisp. Nick watched in grave satisfaction, hating the killing (if such a term could be used) in such a gruesome way. But he knew he had no choice, and tried to reconcile for the guilt by telling himself he was only doing it out of defense. The alternative would be much worse. But still, he wished he wasn't forced to perform such a deed.

Now that he had wiped out most of the Dead Hands on his side (he cut up a few lingering ones with his sword), he raced back to Lirael's side. She was in need of much help. The brunt of the force was coming for her. She lashed out, with sword, fire, lightning, and even some water, but still they came.

Nick added his power to hers. She was tiring, that much was plain. And he knew that she needed as much energy as possible to face the Mordicant. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder. Startled, she looked up; she hadn't noticed his arrival.

"Let me," he said. No more words were needed.

She nodded wearily, and relented, plunking down unceremoniously on the ground beside a sleeping white shape. Mogget, Nick realized. _Some good that cat has done for us._

He turned away and faced the army. He took in a deep breath, and once again reached into the Charter without thinking about it. He couldn't afford another fire wave that had eliminated the other Hands, since that would cost him more energy than he could afford. Instead, he touched the dry grass that covered a part of the plain. A spark leaped from his finger and soon the whole area was ablaze. Dead Hands stumbled into the fire, burning away without a cry. The others, no geniuses, plunged blindly into the fire as they had the diamond of protection. Soon, only one wave of Dead Hands remained, but they did not approach the licking, greedy flames. _They must have been ordered,_ Nick thought, staring hard ahead to see what he knew was there.

The entire area was suddenly chill with the coldness of Death. Nick shivered, and the fire he created still blazed, but seemed to throw off no heat. He swallowed, all his fear and anxiety from the pre-battle coming back to haunt him. He no longer felt he could fight. He sank down beside Lirael, full of despair and fright.

Lirael had felt the cold long before Nick had. She took in a deep breath and stood, wishing that Nick would heal her of her fatigue. But he was exhausted, and surely that simple request would drain him. He was also unprepared, mentally; the coldness of the Mordicant affected others in more than one way.

About thirty or so Dead Hands stood in front of a looming figure, who seemed to be made of darkness itself.  Lirael knew, from having read _The Book of the Dead_ more than once, that a Mordicant was a terrible creature that could go from Life to Death, of its own will. It was made from human blood mixed with Free Magic of a necromancer. And this one was strong, as if there was plenty of Free Magic to spare where it was born.

Tongues of flame shot out from its mouth, its pointed head and glowing eyes glaring at Lirael. She fought the urge to run, and stood up straight, ignoring the chill and the terror associated with Mordicants. She deliberately took her time in removing Saraneth from its pouch, carefully stilling the clapper. She forced herself to meet the gaze of the awful thing. Then, slowly, purposefully, she rang Saraneth with all her might and will.

As the sounds reached the Dead Hands, they were instantly bound to Lirael, for they were so much weaker than the Mordicant. But she did not make them do anything yet. Ignoring them as though they were no more than gnats, she sent the brunt of her will and the call of the Binder to the Mordicant.

She felt resistance, and fought a wave of nausea. This Mordicant would not back down to her will so easily. It fought, and nearly threw her and Saraneth's song off, but she clamped down harder than ever. The Mordicant wavered, unprepared for such power, but refused to bend. Lirael felt some of her strength sapping, but battled on. The war of the wills clashed, and Lirael felt herself gasping. She had never quite done anything like this: attempting to bind a Mordicant, after wearing herself out fighting almost innumerable Dead Hands. Had she been at full strength, she doubted she would have as much resistance as this.

How long they fought, Lirael wasn't sure. She was at the end of her energy, but still struggled on. She fed into her will the hatred she had for Chlorr, and the sense of vengeance she felt for the kidnap of Sabriel and Ellimere. She also added her determination to set things right, and her anger that Clayr's Glacier was melting. Her newly forged resolve proved harder for the Mordicant to oppose. It shoved against her once last time, then dwindled.

But that last conflict proved almost too much for Lirael. She screamed, but couldn't be sure if she screamed in agony or anger. She dimly realized in her emotion that she had succeeded in binding the Mordicant, as well as the remaining Dead Hands. Weakly she bid them all walk beyond the Ninth Gate of Death. She barely felt them acquiesce before she collapsed, sapped of all her strength, on the ground.

A hissing behind her caught her attention. She spun around, her hold on Nehima frail but firm, instinctively. The approaching Dead Hand—the one survivor from Nick's side—was immediately cloven in two. Sighing in exhaustion, Lirael lay down.

A white cat looked at her, fully awake. "It's a good thing you heard me," he remarked. "That would've been ironic, defeating a Mordicant only to be killed by a Dead Hand. Wouldn't you say so?"

Lirael could only nod feebly, then instantly fell asleep.

A/N: That was incredibly long. I hope you enjoyed it!


	11. The Glacier

_Chapter 10 :: The Glacier_

Lirael woke to morning in the same place she had collapsed, her golden hand still clasping Nehima weakly. The Dead Hand who almost crept up on her was gone, and Nicholas stood over her, trying to smile. "You're awake," he said.

"Yes," she agreed, inwardly groaning as she sat up. The battle the previous night had been more than she'd bargained for; the personal struggle against the Mordicant alone sapped her of almost all her strength. "How long have I been asleep?" she asked of Nick.

He did some quick calculations in his head. "About thirty hours," he replied. "You slept all of yesterday away."

Lirael gaped at him, disbelieving. "Thirty hours?" she repeated. She looked at the sun and realized that it wasn't the morning directly after the battle, but, as Nick had said, the morning after _that_. She sighed and stood up, wincing as her sore muscles complained. But despite that, she felt very refreshed; apparently sleeping for over a day can certainly rejuvenate someone. "Well, let's go," she said briskly. She glanced around their camp, eyeing the burned grass patch and inquired, "The horses?"

"Bolted," said Nick grimly. "Ran away soon as the diamond broke. We'll have to walk."

"Look on the bright side," drawled a familiar voice. "At least you're better at walking than you are at riding. At least, I hope you are."

Lirael turned to see a small albino dwarf and frowned, puzzled. Nick, however, instantly recognized him.

"Mogget!" he exclaimed.

"Mogget?" Lirael asked, blinking confusedly.

"My other form," muttered the dwarf. "I don't like to use it, but it's necessary. I'd rather walk on my own than hitch a ride on one of you two."

"Thanks for your confidence," said Nick dryly. Then he blinked. "I almost forgot! We need to eat!" He rushed for the saddlebags, which, fortunately, hadn't been attached to the horses when they ran away.

"Got any fish in there?" asked Mogget, following him just as eagerly.

Lirael discovered she had no appetite, despite not having eaten for over a day. She resheathed Nehima, after wiping the dried blood on her surcoat, not caring how her appearance fared. She began to walk towards the tent, intending to pack it up, but found that task had already been done. She sighed, wanting something _useful_ to do, since she had just been snoring away for the past day, while Nick did all the work.

Someone shoved some food in her face, and she recoiled without thinking. It was merely some bread and butter, but Lirael felt her stomach rebel with just the smell.

"Come on, you need to eat something!" Nick said cheerfully. She looked at him, uncomprehending how he could be so happy in such dark circumstances. He had slaughtered countless Dead Hands with his skill with fire, and yet now he was his normal optimistic self. He shrugged in reply to her look, and grinned again.

Sighing resignedly, she took the bread and bit into it. She was surprised at how wonderful even this drab food tasted, and how quickly her appetite responed. She rapidly devoured the scant meal, and looked around for more. Nick, seeing her, smiled and passed her several more slices. She ate those, less hastily, and was finally sated. Plus, the food seemed to do something for her enthusiasm.

"Let's go!" she cried, leaping up. "We've got a whole day to travel, and the Glacier is still a distance away. We'd be able to get there within a couple hours if we had horses, but on foot…" She shrugged. "In any case, we need to get going. We can't lost time."

"We'll be there in no time!" Nick responded brightly. "It can't be that far. Ten or fifteen miles, if I make my guess correctly. We covered a lot of distance with the horses. We start now, we'll be there by nightfall for sure. What are we waiting for?"

"For you to stop talking," Lirael told Nick, smiling wanly. He blushed and instantly went for the saddlebags, which he carelessly slung across his back. Lirael grabbed the remaining pack and they were about to set off.

"Wait!" called Mogget, swallowing whait appeared to be the last of a fishtail. He hurried to catch up, and his little dwarf body moved surprisingly fast.

They traveled for most of the day, with frequent rests and a long lunch break. By the time evening had come, they could see the Glacier from where they stood. Lirael, gazing at it even from this distance, thought she noticed it was a little…smaller. She tried to tell herself that the Glacier melting was nothing but a rumor, and what she thought she saw was a trick of light, but she couldn't convince herself. She sighed despairingly and sat down.

Nick noticed and suggested they have supper. The proposal was well met by the others, and he brought out some food; cold meat on bread. They couldn't risk a fire, he explained, and besides, they didn't have firewood. All around them was open plain.

They ate in silence, with Lirael constantly glancing at the Glacier, as if to see if had shrunk in the few moments she had looked away. Every now and then Nick would try to engage them all in cheerful conversation, but he was always met with some cutting remark of Mogget's, and silence would reign again. Lirael did not feel like speaking at all, lost in her imaginings.

It was still mostly intact, she consoled herself. But she also had a sense of foreboding, that there was something there she would not like at all. _What about the Library?_ She asked herself. _Would it still be there?_ She hoped so. In her days as a Clayr, the Great Library was her favorite place, the closest she had ever felt to home in the Glacier. If it was gone…well, it wouldn't be gone, she assured herself. But she remained uncertain.

Nick then suggested that they make camp here and make the final trek to the Glacier in the morning. Lirael nodded silent agreement, and allowed Nick to sleep while she took the first watch. She knew she wouldn't be able to fall asleep even if she tried.

She sat there, staring at the not-so-distant Glacier, mulling over thoughts and memories. Times in the Library, with the Disreputable Dog. Lirael suddenly realized that the Library would hold open a door to a fresh wave of memories with the Dog. She blinked back tears, and rebuked herself for showing such weakness. She couldn't grieve in the past, not now. She had to move on. She had to save Sabriel and Ellimere and, if she could, the Glacier as well.

She saw nothing out of the ordinary during her watch, for which she was thankful. That last thing she needed at the moment was another attack of the Dead, even if it was just a motley group of Dead Hands. She went to the tent and woke Nick, and he popped up as if he had a full night's rest and was ready to tackle anything. She smiled at his energy, but fell against the sleeping mat in the tent. She was surprised how exhausted she was, and she was asleep in a moment.

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Lirael awoke when the first rays of the new day jabbed golden fingers in her eyes. She moaned sleepily and arose, realizing she had fallen asleep with her surcoat still on. It was getting dirty and beginning to give off a pungent odor. She grimaced and decided to wash it and herself before leaving for the Glacier. Luckily, yesterday they had passed a stream so small it went uncharted on any map, but it would suffice for Lirael's needs. She set off.

When she came back, Nick had some more cold meat sandwiches prepared. He seemed apologetic for the drab food, but Lirael didn't mind. Mogget, of course, helped himself to any fish that remained in the saddlebags, despite whatever condition they were in. Not a word was exchanged during breakfast; there seemed to be an ominous silence in the camp, and the trio respected that. Even Mogget.

They broke camp and headed in the direction of the Glacier. Lirael kept her dark eyes fixed on it, not looking away once. Nick, watching her, realized just how much this Glacier meant to her. He himself had only been there once, and that only for less than day, but he understood that it was her home early on, and so must have some meaning. He let out a little sigh, and continued walking.

They arrived at the mouth of the River Ratterlin, just before the Glacier. Nick gave it a quick glance-over and did some mental math. Judging from what the Glacier looked like when he had visited that one time, it had appeared to have shrunken by approximately ten percent. He shared his estimation with the others.

Lirael looked like she was ready to vomit any moment, and Nick wondered why. She was turning a little green, and could barely nod in acknowledgement of Nick's assessment.

Suddenly Nick felt an overwhelming strength, emanating from the Glacier. He gasped in its energy, and some part in him yearned to be joined with it. But he fought it—and suddenly realized what had happened.

Free Magic. There was a huge source of it here, at the Glacier. It was what had caused the erosion of the Glacier in the past few years—like Mogget had said, one source escaping the Binding of Orannis and coming—here. To the Glacier.

Mogget looked almost smug, and Nick remembered that he was entirely made of Free Magic. "I suppose you're happy about this," Nick remarked to Mogget.

"Not exactly," replied the dwarf. "Let us just say that my suspicions have been confirmed. Now. Are we going to stand here and gawk all day, or are we going to go in?"

"But—Lirael—" Nick gestured helplessly to the sickened Lirael. Unlike Nick, she didn't have the Free Magic in her blood, so was affected much more than he was.

She seemed to understand what was going on and waved a hand, and began to walk. She detested Free Magic, and hated walking right _into_ it, but it was necessary. But the source—there was so much—not nearly as much as even half what Orannis had, but plenty to make her nauseated.

Somehow Lirael was able to get into the Glacier, but the sight that met her eyes was not a pretty one. The main room, where Lirael recalled dimly eating breakfast every morning, was filled with sick Clayr. They had turned the room into something of a hospital, and from what Lirael could see, it meant that the normal Hospital was overloaded. A few Clayr were strong enough, and they were running around, attending to the various vomiting others.

"Lirael! Nick!" someone called.

Lirael turned and saw Sanar, Ryelle not far behind. Though it had been a while since she had seen either of them, she could still (barely) tell them apart. She smiled and waved, but did not trust herself to open her mouth, lest more than words would come spilling out.

"So you have come," said Ryelle grimly when they met. She gestured around them. "As you can see, the entire Glacier has become a sickroom of sorts. We will have to move eventually, but we're not exactly in good condition…"

"We can't even See in the Observatory, there's so much Free Magic," Sanar chimed in.

Lirael grimaced. The situation was worse than she had expected. She spoke in barely above a whisper: "I'll help if I can."

"We expected no less of you," said Ryelle, managing a weak smile.

While they were talking, Nick had wandered away to one of the Clayr. She looked up at him with dimming blue eyes, her face gray with weariness and sickness. He reached into the Charter, and found it surprisingly quickly. Some Free Magic tried to interfere, but he absently shoved it away. Taking the Charter, he spoke the marks of healing, one of his talents which Sam praised him so highly for. It seemed that it would be of use here.

The Clayr he was healing looked surprised, but a little color began to seep into her cheeks. She smiled gratefully at Nick, and fell into a healing sleep.

Ryelle nudged Sanar and indicated Nick's act. Sanar blinked, and smiled, and came over to Nick. He was staring down at the Clayr he had just healed, with something resembling disbelief.

Sanar patted him on the shoulder and told him, "The worst off are in the Hospital, being cared for as best they can. Lirael can show you where it is; I think they'll be delighted to have you there." She smiled at him reassuringly.

Nick nodded, and swallowed, feeling nervous all of a sudden. Healing that one Clayr didn't seem to hinder him at all, and so it was with determination that he followed Lirael to the main hospital. She seemed a little sick, so he spared some energy to help her. She smiled at him in silent thanks, and showed him to the hospital, this time more quickly.

"Where's Mogget?" Nick asked suddenly, looking behind him.

Lirael shrugged, then looked back at the sickroom they had just left. Sanar and Ryelle were talking quietly among themselves, but there was no sign of a dwarf or cat anywhere. In fact, Lirael thought, she hadn't seen Mogget since they had entered the Glacier—and Sanar and Ryelle had called out only the names of her and Nick.

"Curse it all," she whispered. "Mogget's missing."

A/N: Yay for abrupt endings. Sorry for the long update. And also, I'm not so sure about the places in the Glacier; I'm working from memory, since I don't own a copy of Lirael and don't have one here with me now. Sorry for the inaccuracies, and again, I'd be much obliged if you would point them out to me if you see any, to save me some dignity :-) Thanks for reading on. I hope you're finding this story satisfactory.


	12. Encounter

A/N: Sorry for the long update. It's getting harder to write chapters these days, what with all the distractions. By-the-by, I'm going away this Sunday, August 8th, and I won't return until next Friday, the 13th. Whoo. It'll be Friday the 13th! Which means, that this is probably the last update until then. Sorry!

_Chapter 11 :: Encounter_

"So. The Abhorsen-in-Waiting has come to the Glacier."

Elixiol closed her eyes and nodded. A Gore Crow spy had informed her of that fact only moments before. Of course, Chlorr of the Mask had to know. Elixiol had hesitated, if only briefly, before coming to Chlorr; still, it had been a hesitation.

Chlorr began to pace, her bronze mask glinting in the scant moonlight. It was nighttime, and the Clayr were sleeping while the Dead planned. Finally she looked up at her partner. Behind the mask, Elixiol could see a sinister smile, and shuddered. Chlorr had something particularly vile in mind.

"I believe we can use this turn of events to our advantage," Chlorr remarked.

======================================================================================

Once Nick was well acquainted with the hospital, Lirael was free to do as she liked. She automatically began walking towards the Library, but stopped. If the Library was just like the rest of the Glacier…Lirael wouldn't want to see her old home ruined by sickened Clayr, or the shelves and shelves of books uncared for in the past weeks. She shuddered, and decided to leave her fond memories of the Library just that, fond, and not spoiled by the effects of Free Magic.

What to do? She wondered. The Free Magic was too much. She couldn't remain in the Glacier long before she ended up on one of those makeshift beds, awaiting treatment from Clayr that were only a little more healthy than she was. So she wandered outside, where the waves of Free Magic were still strong, but fainter and took less of a toll on her. She sighed, and sat back, trying to recover from the brief time spent under the Glacier.

This was even worse than she had imagined! Not only was the Glacier melting, but the people inside were dying, too. Sanar and Ryelle had already informed her that they had lost many Clayr since it began. At first it was gradual, one or two Clayr dying in a month, while the healers were almost helpless as they mysteriously wasted away to nothing. But now, everyone was infected, even the stronger Clayr, and there was little hope left…unless the source of Free Magic was taken away.

And where was Mogget? Lirael had seen none of an albino dwarf or a little white cat in all the time she had been here. She trusted Mogget to look after himself, of course, but it worried her…what mischief was he planning?

Lirael shivered and hugged her knees to her body. Her thoughts turned to Nick. Poor Nicholas Sayre, being the one hope left for healing the sick Clayr. He would have to stretch his power to prevent many from dying, and would probably not be able to fully heal anyone. He would be weak, too. Lirael hoped that Sam's praise for Nick's healing abilities were not exaggerated; even if they were not, Nick would have trouble. Lirael wished she could be of more use to him. She had found that she had really grown to care for him in their journey here, and didn't want anything bad to happen to him.

Since Lirael allowed such thoughts to bear her away from reality gently, she did not immediately notice when her Death sense tingled warningly. After a while, though, she leaped up, completely startled. What would any kind of _Dead_ be doing so close to the Glacier? Almost instantly she knew the answer: Chlorr of the Mask was behind this again. Even though the Clayr were so near…they were weakened. Lirael sent a thousand curses on that Greater Dead creature, nearly losing her temper. Lirael rarely let her anger carry her that far, but she was pressured with the sickness the Free Magic caused, the kidnap of the Abhorsen and her daughter…and not to mention, there was no Disreputable Dog to support and help her.

In her fury Lirael strode forward, not thinking about what she would do if she encountered yet another army of the Dead. Her Death sense was tingling madly now, but she ignored it and the danger she was walking into. A cry reached her ears, in a familiar voice. Lirael, startled, stopped.

Climbing up the side of the hill was a ragged figure, a girl her own age. Lirael recognized her instantly, though she was no longer garbed in the rich garments of a princess. _Ellimere__!_ Lirael realized, elated. _She escaped!_

Lireal broke into a run, preparing to meet her friend, her smile widening. A new hope sprung within her: if Ellimere had been able to escape, then maybe Sabriel did too…

Almost the instant she thought it, she saw the Queen following her daughter up the hill. Lirael waved, ecstatic, forgetting entirely about the sense of the Dead nearby…her friends had returned, had escaped evil Chlorr's wrath.

Ellimere looked up, saw Lirael, and tiredly smiled. "Lir…" she began, but collapsed in a faint. Her mother caught her, but looked about ready to fall herself. She nodded wearily to Lirael as the Abhorsen-in-Waiting approached. Apparently, their escape effort had been trying.

Lirael had almost reached then when a sudden stench met her nose. She paused, and immediately a wave of Dead creatures came between her and her escaped friends. Sabriel, Lirael just noticed, did not have her bells. She was nearly powerless without them…

Unhesitantly, Lirael took out Saraneth, and rang it out. She was still slightly weak from exposure to that great source of Free Magic, but she was able to put her will into the binding peals. The Dead between her and her friends shuddered, then were bound, as she sent them back to Death. No sooner had they departed then another wave took their place…and another…and yet even another…

Lirael thought she would kill herself continuing to ring the heavy bell. Her will was still hardened, but her strength was dimming. She had lost sight of Sabriel and Ellimere, and in fact didn't even _think_ about them. She was far too busy ringing the Binder, sending the Dead back to where they belonged, and beginning all over again…

Strong hands—not belonging to a Dead creature—went around her waist and pulled back forcefully. She gasped, and almost rang Saraneth in defiance, until she realized who gripped her. Nicholas Sayre had come to her rescue, pulling her out of the fray and into the Glacier before she used up all her life-force. Although in the back of her mind, she knew this was best, she protested.

"Let me _go_!" she cried. "Sabriel and Ellimere are back there…we've got to…save them…Nick…!"

"No, Lirael," he said gruffly. "It was a trap. You'd kill yourself. Sabriel and Ellimere…they were never really free…Chlorr just allowed them to be the bait for the trap…"

"No," she gasped, out of breath and exhausted for her efforts. She couldn't believe she had been fooled: of course Chlorr would have been more careful with her captives…but Lirael had been so close…

She took a deep breath, allowed her lungs to fill, before rounding on Nick. "But you _came_ here to save them! Not run away from them on the first try!" she accused. She knew she wasn't being fair, but for the moment didn't really care. She had been _so close_ to Sabriel and Ellimere…just another moment and they would have been free…"Why did you come with me anyway, if you weren't going to help rescue them?"

"Of course I'm here to help them," he snapped. "Now listen, Lirael, _calm down._" She had never heard his voice so final, had never been aware that he could be so commanding. She quieted.

He began to pace in the entrance of the Glacier. Lirael watched him, calming, but still steaming. She wasn't sure if she was angry at Nick for bringing her out, or at herself, for falling for such a cheap trick.

"Look, we're going to save them." His blue eyes caught her dark ones and held them. "But when we are, _we_ will make the surprise attack…not them. _We'll_ plan out a strategy, and take them by surprise…not them. We'll catch _them_ off guard."

Lirael looked away, ashamed of both her anger at him and of her foolishness for running headlong into a trap. Nick was right. They had to be in control of the situation.

A sudden, cold liquid drop fell on her head. Lirael, alarmed, looked up. Another icy drop nearly hit her eye. She scooted away, and discovered that the entire entrance of the Glacier was melting like an icicle in the sun. Cold fright swept through Lirael. The Glacier was melting right before her eyes!

Nick noticed it too, and grimaced. "It's getting faster," he muttered, mostly to himself, but Lirael heard him. "Free Magic is either getting stronger…or the Glacier weaker. Either way…" He stood and waved his hand at the mountain of ice. "Within a year, this whole thing'll be gone," he calculated.

Lirael leaped to her feet. She was deathly afraid, when she heard Nick's words, but that fear ignited some determination in her. "We won't let it," she said lowly. "We'll stop this."

Nick looked up and met her gaze again, but this time his eyes were friendly. "Yes," he agreed softly. "We will."

The moment was ruined when a large drop splashed on his head. Nick blinked, and wiped his hand on his hair, and it came away wet. He sighed. "In any other situation, I'd find this embarrassing, even amusing. Curse this Free Magic, it's ruining my sense of humor." Smiling wryly, he went in.

Lirael stared after him, mixed emotions stirring within her. Finally she sighed, and followed him, trying to ignore the dripping sound as the Glacier continued to melt.


	13. Free Magic

Chapter 12 :: Free Magic 

Elixiol was beginning to tire of these meetings with her partner. The malleable necromancer had nothing to bring but bad news; Chlorr had nothing but vile, greedy plan after vile, greedy plan. The Free Magic that surrounded the Glacier was calling to them, and the more they resisted its call, the more tempting it became. Chlorr was falling steadily into dependence on that source of Magic; soon, it would swallow her, rather than the other way around. Chlorr just didn't quite realize it yet.

Elixiol did, but she was too tired to fight its summons. She joined Chlorr in the first place because she, like the Greater Dead creature, was lustful for power: the Free Magic at the Glacier could fulfill that lust. It had come from the Destroyer, Orannis, himself: one could not ask for a greater source of energy. But as time went on, Chlorr and Elixiol continued to fail in getting that Magic. They had been reluctant to attack the Clayr, even when the Clayr were weakened. Now, Elixiol just wanted to go to the Free Magic, just to stop it from calling her in her dreams and in her waking hours.

She did not know what Chlorr planned. But she could guess, from the wicked smirk she could see behind the bronze mask.

"We attack the Glacier," Chlorr said simply.

And Elixiol knew then that chaos would break loose.

======================================================================================

Mogget was still nowhere to be found.

_Trust the cat to abandon us when we need him most,_ thought Nicholas Sayre dryly. He was becoming more sardonic, less patient, since coming to the Glacier. Although the Free Magic did not bother him as much, he was worn out from having to extend his Charter Magic to keep so many Clayr alive. He had already lost a few, which was embarrassing and shameful on his part. The Clayr had quickly realized that with the balance of Charter and Free in his blood, and his knack for healing, that he just may be their only hope left. If he could pull it off, he would be regarded as a hero.

_If_ he could pull it off. That was very questionable at the time.

He began to recall a dream he once had, back in Belisaere. Scores of dying people lay around him, and looking to him for help, since he was basically the only one able to give help. He hadn't understood it then, but he did now. The Clayr were watching him, waiting patiently, aware of their doom if Nick could not help them.

He _would_ help them, though. He had the power; he could do it.

He began to see less and less of Lirael as the days spent in the hospital grew longer and more numerable. Nick was losing sleep, losing energy, losing everything but hope as he kept countless Clayr alive. Sometimes he was so tired he couldn't recognize Lirael when she did come to visit, worriedly.

It had never occurred to either of them that Lirael could lend him the power until it was too late.

_We could use that confounded cat now,_ Nick thought. Mogget had promised he would aid them, but as soon as responsibility stared the cat in the face, he ran away. Nick wouldn't dare admit it, but he missed the cat, sarcasm and all. Mogget could assist them, were he here.

And then one afternoon, chaos broke loose.

Lirael had been giving Nick a drink of water in the hospital when Sanar ran in. Lirael had a brief moment to notice things about the Clayr she had never seen before: Sanar's beautiful blonde hair was streaked with gray, and her blue eyes betrayed her weariness. Lirael knew that Sanar was fighting the Free Magic with all she had, and that wore her out quickly.

"Lirael—need you—outside—Dead," Sanar gasped. She was panting, as though she had run a long way, but in reality, even short distances made her gasp for breath.

Lirael gave Sanar a flask of water, and the Clayr downed it in an instant. The water seemed to help. Sanar inhaled sharply, then said more clearly, "Army of Dead, outside. They—they want the Free Magic!"

"They can have it, for all we care," snapped Nick, who was listening. Normally he would not have said something so irritable, but lack of sleep did not suit him well.

"No," Lirael said, realizing at last what Chlorr's true intent all along had been. "We can't let them." Without another word, she raced out to do battle with her long-time enemy.

The instant she was outside, she got a blast of Free Magic. Lirael gasped, and vomited, until there was nothing left. The nausea remained, worse than anything Lirael had ever felt. How could she fight Chlorr and her army in this state?

A blazing white shape streaked past her, and almost immediately Lirael's nausea receded. The Free Magic was gone, or so it seemed. Lirael dared to look behind her, and what she saw made her almost wish she hadn't.

A creature entirely made of Free Magic—Yrael—was struggling with some invisible force. He was holding back the Free Magic, so that Lirael could fight the oncoming obstacle. Yrael saw her gaping and screeched, _"Go!"_ His voice sounded like a thousand razors scraping against each other.

Lirael snapped out of her reverie. She nodded to Yrael and leapt away as fast as she could, relieved that Mogget had finally lent a hand, so to speak. But her good spirits sank when she saw what she would be facing.

The army had to be at least twice as big as the first one she had fought. And at its head was an impossibly tall woman Lirael had hoped never to see again. Chlorr of the Mask seemed to grin savagely when she spotted the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, the lone defense of the Glacier.

Lirael didn't hesitate. This would be undoubtedly the largest battle she ever fought, and she wished in vain for Sabriel beside her. She tore Kibeth out of its pouch and rang it with all its might, listening as its peals echoed in the army.

Chlorr kept coming forward though, seemingly impervious against Kibeth's forceful call. But the Dead who accompanied her were not. Lirael watched with a grim satisfaction as Dead Hands and Shadow Hands alike fell, to Walk beyond the Ninth Gate, where they belonged. There were no Mordicants, much to Lirael's relief, but the mass amount of the Hands she would have to face was nearly as bad. And then there was Chlorr herself.

Lireal forgot all sense of time as she stood there, alone, the Walker's cries mingled with her vigorous will sending Dead creature after Dead creature back into Death. Her eyes were locked with Chlorr's—it was almost as if there was no other army, just the two foes facing each other. One was standing, waiting, and the other was walking deliberately slowly to her. A confrontation would be imminent—unless one of them fell first to the other. Would Chlorr be unable to resist Kibeth, or would Lirael use up all her strength and resolve to fight the army?

Kibeth's calls became more choked, and each peal took fewer Dead than the last. Lirael realized she would have to switch bells, and the army was very close. In the moment between bells, they could take her…

Lirael considered Astarael, as Sabriel had done when she was captured. The Clayr, she hoped, were beyond the range of the largest and coldest bell, and she would take Chlorr with her into Death. That alone was enough.

And she would see the Dog again…

Lirael reached for the heaviest bell, dropping Kibeth in the dirt. She was too tired to replace the bell to its rightful pouch, too tired to even notice Chlorr's triumphant smirk behind her mask.

She pulled out Astarael…

And memories hit her. The Dog, giving up her life to save Lirael's. Her living friends—Nick was using all his energy to save the Clayr, Mogget/Yrael straining so hard to keep the Free Magic back…and Sabriel and Ellimere, trapped by Chlorr…Sam, back at Belisaere, wishing to be of some use, willing to build an entire new home for the doomed Clayr…Touchstone, the King, undoubtedly worried sick but unable to show it…

Could she leave them to fight on their own? Could she run away, and shirk her responsibility? Not even Mogget had done that.

Lirael could feel the Dog's presence beside her. She could not, if nothing else, throw away her adored friend's sacrifice for her. She could not willingly choose Death.

Astarael fell, silently, beside the dropped Kibeth. Lirael was shaking. She could not kill herself.

But the time she took to decide that was precious. The army converged…Lireal's hand scrabbled uselessly at Saraneth's pouch, ready to take one last stand…

And then, Elixiol the necromancer arrived.

A/N: Cliffhanger, I know. Don't worry, though. Climax is coming up! :-)


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